


.Ouroboros.

by kukinom



Series: .The green eyed witch. [3]
Category: Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: -how is that not a tag?, Alternate Universe, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood, Death, Horror, Intersex Loki (Marvel), M/M, Romantic Horror, Violence, Witch Loki, because i'm freaky like that, but also 'not really', but don't worry it's nothing too graphic, damn the tags in this one are dark, horror romance, regular Thor, this one has kind of a different vibe from the others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26438860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kukinom/pseuds/kukinom
Summary: ''Now be good for me.''No. Loki spits into the man's face defiantly, snarling dark promises through bloody teeth before he is being beaten again - and the last thing he feels is his head snap back before everything goes black.
Relationships: Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Series: .The green eyed witch. [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815865
Comments: 4
Kudos: 70





	.Ouroboros.

**Author's Note:**

> so i decided to go off anonymous- hi. call me kukinom ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿♡*:･~。💩 sleep evades me as of late so i might actually start writing and posting some stuff.. anyways- i had no idea for a title with the word 'witch' in it so... i just pulled this one out of a hat ╮(╯▽╰)╭ i also have no idea where this story is going- i just make stuff up as i go.
> 
> ⚠!!! If you are no good with violence maybe skip to the first → ----- and start reading there !!!⚠  
> personally i don't think it's too bad but you know yourself better than i do.

Run. Run. Running, almost blindly through the thicket. Ragged breaths burn his throat like winter air. Heartbeat, a frantic thumping, drumming against his ears. Deafening. drowning out everything and muddling his senses. Turning his head around in horror, so fast his vision blurrs yet still he sees in the shadows, figures approach, relentless in their chase, hounding Loki like an animal. 

His foot catches on something and he is tripping, falling. skidding and hitting the ground. Foliage and turf scrape away the skin but panic - fear, numbs the burning ache on hands and knees. 

Time stood still as he lies there paralyzed by exhaustion and dread. Tasting his hair in mouth. Listening to leaves rustling in the wind blowing cold. Feeling the scurrying of insects beneath his fingertips trenched in the soil. Quivering and with leaden limbs he forces himself up on his buckling knees. He has to run, else they - 

He is tackled back down and Loki can feel his bones tremble on impact. 

''Gotcha' ya, little harlot.'' 

It sneers. Putrid breath, panting warm and humid in his face. Loki's stomach jumps and he can taste the acid in the back of his throat. 

Trying to mask his tremors as rage, refusing to bear his fear to this beast. Snarling and hissing. Spitting curses with dirt and blood on his tongue. Coiling and writhing like a snake on the ground, crazed and rabid in his frustration trying to buck the attacker off his back. 

Ribs strain, creak beneath the heavy weight atop. Roused flesh, burns against his skin like red hot iron, grinding into each nub of his spine with insistent rutting. Callous hands on his flesh raises the urge to shed it, peel it off and skin himself. 

Arms sprawled out, nails breaking in his desperation as his fingers dig and rummage around for anything to grab. In his flailing he struck one hand against something, fingers clamp around the broken branch, snapping the stick in half. Loki spins himself around and stabs the man in the neck.

He squeals like a stuck pig. Terrified it tries to scurry away but Loki yanks his weapon out and stabs again and again and again.. until the screeches give way to gurgles and then - silence.

The blood feels hot on Loki' s skin and he watches it puddleing on the ground, the earth greedily drinking every drop he has given it. He wipes his face with shaking hands, smearing the iron scent all over himself, making him retch.

With a cry of rage he begins hitting the corpse, damning and cursing it with hateful fury, unleashing his anger and frustration on the motionless body beneath for having dared. His teeth ache with the desire to sink into it's cooling flesh, crush unseeing eyes between his fingers, rip it's cock off and stuff it down it's gullet, make it eat it. 

Yanked out of his bloodlust from behind by the hair, dragged over the ground, his naked feet digging uselessly into the the soil, stubbing against stones and snagging on roots. Loki cries, clawing with broken nails at the hand in his hair. Tearing skin, drawing blood. But the grip does not slack, instead meaty fingers wind around the fist of hair even tighter, making Loki's scalp burn.

The fist against his temple comes down hard and heavy and unexpected, making the trees around them spin. Loki feels the bone in his face give beneath each punch as he is repeatedly whacked into the ground. gurgleing pleas and hoping it is enough to persuade the man to stop - and he does so in favor for skimming filthy hands up and down Loki's body, slithering them beneath his tunic. 

''Now be good for me.'' 

No. Loki spits into the man's face defiantly, snarling dark promises through bloody teeth before he is being beaten again - and the last thing he feels is his head snap back before everything goes black.

\-----

It just hangs there, suspended by the neck. Limbs rigid. Grey muddy feet with nails- chipped and broken, dangling lifeless. Wispy hair dancing in the breeze, carrying with it the fetidly sweet odor of rot and Thor sees glinting from behind inky strands - staring back at him, unblinking emerald eyes. Gems for the crows to pluck. Wan skin, marbled blue and purple, crawled over and kissed by opalescent flies, swarming all around, drowning out every thought in his head with their infernal buzzing. Humming like a thousand voices, droning in his skull.

Thor woke with a start, gasping for air, heart drumming wildly in his chest, drenched in cold sweat. A dream. 

He chuckles to himself. voice quivering with nerves. ''Again, what a fright.'

Lately he has been having these dreams of his little witch, though none of them at all pleasant. Inbetween Flashes of life blurred by suffering there are some of which- seemingly conjured out of his most subconcious perverse fantasies. 

Its silhouette doused in blood, horrid and grisly. Backlit by burning effigy of men weaved from straw and flowers while straddled atop him. Fucking itself on his cock as it tears the still beating heart out of Thor's chest, hips in their animalistic drive never faltering as it kisses him with lips that offer no promises, no hopes. 

Pleasure, intoxication, madness. His erotic urges terrify him sometimes. 

-But this just now was different. This qualmish feeling, like a knot of serpents in his gut. Ominous.

Thor's hand finds itself reaching for the brand on his chest. It aches - burns, as if traced with a searing blade. Hot to the touch and pulsing beneath his fingers. It has never before hurt and somehow it feels like a premonition. Because for some reason he knew- those things he sees while asleep are no mere dreams. 

So Thor finds himself the next morning standing infront of the gallows from his vision.

In small comunities like this village- where even the simplest of mistakes are penalized, punishment for actual crimes are most often excessively cruel and turned into a spectacle for the people to enjoy. Above all if the culprit is a Witch. Even if innocent, witches are always guilty of whatever malady, be it withered crops or bad milk.

Yet Thor had to admit, the whispers around him about the remains of men, nothing left of them but bloody ribbons and women that vanish into the woods in the dead of night to kill their babes, might have given these people a good reason for whatever they had done. None of it mattered though, because nothing was hanging from the gibbet but an empty noose.

The grey sky has given way to pouring rain when Thor arrived. The witches' little hut appearing from the fog like an apparition. Thor stopped in his tracks, boots deep in the mud, simply- looking. Steeling himself before cautiously approaching the door standing open and swaying in the breeze with squeaking hinges. He had already stepped inside before remebering his manners and knocking on the clattering wood to announce his presence. 

On the nest of moss, beneath the furs he sees its body tense, like an animal ready to bolt given the chance. The witches' head peeps out, Raven locks like a cloak around the pale body, barely turning its head just enough for a single green eye to look through the curtain of hair. Once it recognizes Thor it relaxes in its spot, curling out of the heavy pelt and offering the thunderer a place to sit by its side. 

The nightmare visions he has seen of this horrifying, deadly being that none can tame- are nothing like the little thing huddled on itself in this dank dark shed. The witch kept still as Thor inspected the damage. Battered and bruised, it has been beaten, badly. It was covered in gashes and one eye was swollen shut. Most prominent its thin neck, circled in ropeburn, angry red and purpleing. It looked miserable and Thor had to fight down the urge to cry.

Being stronger than death does not heal the hurt and Thor might be selfish but he is just glad it was still alive at all, damaged but whole. His hands find themselves stroking over the meat of its thighs, soft and cold to the touch. 

The witch watched him dangerously, threatening. The uneven jagged points of its claws digging into the flesh of Thor's forearms, daring him to go any further. Thor looks at the witches' fingers, pale and cold as bones and its nails like they had been clawing at dirt, chipped and splintered - two of them completely missing, only the angry red of their nailbeds remaining. 

Placating Thor lifts his hands- offering them palms up to the witch. He can't help the nervous chuckle bursting out of him, a little too loud in the rainy silence. 

''i will do you no harm, i never would. i swear.'' he tries to reassure. He means it. And after what seemed like an eternity of the witches' one eye cutting into him, picking him apart piece by piece- it finally layed back into its nest, contently curled in on itself like a cat. 

If it was any other day Thor would now take his leave- but the witch was watching him- expectantly. What else could he have done but lay down beside it.

\-----

The rain let's up by nightfall. The witch has been asleep soundly for a long while now, unmoving, it hasn't stirred once and if not for its soft breath fanning over Thor's skin he would fear it was dead. Confident enough that it would not wake- he dares move a strand of hair from its face and behind its ear only to see it staring back at him, unblinking. 

''Your eye. It has healed.'' he tries to not sound as terrified as he feels but the cacophony of helish whispers from somewhere behind him make it difficult. He turns his head and there is nothing but the empty hut yet the voices grow louder, more insistent. He can hear them scratching at the back of his skull, feel the scraping reverberate in his bones as they try to find a way inside. 

Talon fingers crawl from out of the shadows like spiders, reaching for him. Unnaturally contorting, broken and twisted they claw at Thor, feeling the scorched flesh and charred bones on his skin. Thor wants to tear them off him but he is paralyzed, wants to scream but his voice is stuck in his throat as if choking on it.

In the dark the witches' face seems to contort, shift and warp uncanny as if lying at the ground of a riverbed and Thor is trying to make out its features beneath the rush of the stream. Like a mask that hides as much as it reveals. But then it whispers to him sweetly, condemningly. Kissing him with lips that intoxicate and Thor feels his fear slowly dying, dissolving in the air like blood in water.

He reaches out to it and feels its skin is clammy, overcome with the urge to warm it he winds his arms around the witch and burries his face in its neck, into its wild mess of hair because the voices don't reach there. nosing over the curls on its temple, Thor inhales deep. the scent of scalp and skin and sweat, deep dark earth- and beneath it all, animal musk and sweet ambrosia. 

He follows the track instinctively, searching for where it is most potent and finds himself in the hot nook betwixt the witches' legs. Without prelude he starts mouthing at its melliferous chink, kissing it as if it were a mouth while burying his nose in the cleft between its thigh and flushed cock, breathing in. When with his little witch Thor always feels like a beast, reduced to his most base instincts. animal needs. 

Either trying to pull him away or push his face deeper, splintered nails snag on golden locks, thin fingers knotting themselves into Thors hair, painfully so. The witches' back arches like a bow- and climaxes with a silent cry, crumpling into a tangle of tender flesh, soft with its orgasm and thighs quaking with the sensetivity. Palming at himself through his breeches, flesh pulsing in par with his heartbeat. combing his fingers through the honey in his beard.

Arms, tenuous and bone white snake around Thor's neck and pull him down deep into a kiss. The witches' tongue tastes like sleep and amaranth and he chases that flavor with his own down its throat. 

Pulled and rolled over, the witch now hovering over him. Green eyes too bright in the stark darkness, it is the only thing Thor can focus on - that unnatural emerald gaze cutting into him like knives, peeling off his shell and seeing right into his core. And whatever it is inside his center the witch seems completely taken by what it has found there.

It straddles him. Blindly tucking Thor's cock out and against its cunt, sliding it inside- tortuously slow. Riding him with slow bucks, soft shudders and breathy little moans. Unlike their usual animal coupling- this feels intimate. Special. not fucking- but love making. 

Thor's climax comes out of nowhere - just with the touch of the witches' fingers tracing the ridges of the brand on his chest, soldering in their intensity, leaving burning blisters along his skin. Head thrown back Thor groans, watching with bleary eyes how the witch keeps rolling its hips in mollifying circles on Thor's cock until he was spent.

Illuminated by the moon now large and bright in the starless sky, a most sinister- cold white glint, yet its smile is warm and soft, loving. Entwining their fingers the witch guides their hands onto its stomach and Thor can feel it - magic. 

Like a secret, the witch whispers it's name to him. Loki.

**Author's Note:**

> i really wanted to include something from Loki's pov, so- idk what happened but this one kind of turned out more plot than porn :I 
> 
> Also i posted this after i finished writing and at 3am it seems decent enough but then again everything sort of does in my late night madness ○|￣|_  
> It makes sense to me right now but who knows if anyone can actually decipher it- so let me know if anything sounds weird... kudos, comments and critique are appreciated.


End file.
